


Laughing with God

by Vagabond



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: Other, PTSD, Psychology, Relationships if you squint, War flashbacks, man feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-23
Packaged: 2017-11-28 00:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/668169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vagabond/pseuds/Vagabond
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Men who walk through the fire never shed the heat." Sergeant Bennet Drake knows that all too well. Reid feels powerless to help him, but Jackson might just get through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No one laughs at God in a war

**Author's Note:**

> Ripper Street has given me way too many feels. Then I came upon a tumblr entry from bandofbrothels ([HERE](http://bandofbrothels.tumblr.com/post/42122231024/no-ones-laughing-at-god-when-theyve-lost-all)) and found myself all the more inspired to write fanfiction. This will be a three chapter piece. The first is in Bennet Drake's point of view (he's my baby). Next Reid's, then eventually Jackson's. All these dysfunctional boys are way too much fun to write. 
> 
> This fic is unbeta'ed (the fandom is so small it is difficult to find someone to proof my stuff, and I don't dare show it to friends), so I apologize for any misplaced grammar. 
> 
> The lyrics at the end of each chapter are from Regina Spektor's song, "Laughing With" ([X](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-pxRXP3w-sQ)).
> 
> Finally, first chapter is a gift to favor757 on tumblr for asking me to write about Faulkner and Drake back in the war (I hope she likes it)!

When he first heard the screaming, he thought it was the men crying out as he slashed their throats.

It was only after the last man had fallen that Sergeant Bennet Drake realized the scream was coming from his own throat. There was a sense of terror resonating throughout his entire being. It felt as if the whole world were shaking inside of him, trying to burst out. All he could do was scream. He was screaming in anguish, in pain and in distress. He was screaming at how unfair the world was and how easy a life was to lose and to take.

His legs seemed to give out under him and he fell into the gritty sand. Blood and tears mingled together on his face. His hands were drenched with more blood, none of it his, and that thought made him scream all the louder. In that moment he did not care if there were more enemies around to hear him. He did not care if someone were to strike him down. All he could focus on was the terror coiling through him, ripping up his insides and threatening to tear through his skin.

 _Die. Die. Die. Die._ There was a drum beat inside of his head and death was its mantra.

“Sergeant.” The voice was familiar, urgent, and managed to cut through the screaming. Hands were touching his head, his face, fingertips stroking over his rough cheeks before they settled firmly on his shoulders. “Sergeant Drake, come back to me.”

His screaming turned to sobbing and he felt his stomach flip. Drake heaved but nothing came up, just more sobs and tears. He barely registered the soft words of his colonel, trying to bring him back to reality. Calloused fingertips were running through his hair now, over the back of his neck as he felt an arm move around him. It seemed like an eternity before the sobbing slowed to whimpers and then to nothing. His body still shook but the tremors were gentler now, reminding him of how it felt to be a child caught in the rain.

“That’s it.” Colonel Madoc Faulkner encouraged as Drake’s body finally stilled except for his ragged breathing. “Up now. We must get you back to camp. Back to your brothers.” Slowly Drake was pulled to his feet and he walked step by step with Faulkner. The return to the regiment was a blur after that.

The next he remembered, Sergeant Drake was sitting in front of a low burning fire. He watched the flames dance in front of him, the heat caressing his face. Somewhere along the way someone had cleaned him up. There was no blood left on his face or his hands. He still wore the same blood stained trousers, but his shirt had been changed. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew it should irk him that he did not remember any of it happening, but anytime he tried to remember anything all he saw was red and all he smelled was death and terror.

“Sergeant.” Faulkner was back and took a seat beside him on the sand. Drake looked to his superior, wondering how the man could bear to be near him after seeing the carnage done at his hands. “You fought well and you fought bravely. You will be heralded as a hero. Women will fall at your feet. You will have metals pinned to your chest and everyone will speak of your bravery.”

Though the words sounded nice, something deep inside of Drake spoke to the contrary. _There are no metals and women for men like me,_ he thought, _just shame and fear and terror_. Yet in the darkness, sitting beside the fire, he tried to believe what Faulkner was saying.

“We will get back home Sergeant and there will be parades in our honor. We will want for nothing as the heroes of old. Perhaps we will not be rich, but we will be loved. After what we have sacrificed and what we have seen, no other outcome will be possible.” Faulker’s words were so full of hope that Drake clung to them desperately, like a scared child to his mother’s leg.

As he stared at the fire he felt the terror rising in him again. Suddenly he was dragged back into the darkness, men’s screams all around him. His scream was heard above them all. Blood stained the sand, friendly faces melted away as unfriendly ones appeared. Drake reached out for his colonel but the man was not beside him any longer. Only the ghosts of the men he had killed kept him company now.

“Mercy!” He cried out pathetically, but they were closing in around him, dead eyes staring into his soul. _They are weighing my heart_ he thought desperately as one reached into his chest and ripped out his still-beating heart. _I don’t want to die._

Sergeant Drake woke up soaked with sweat, tears running down his cheeks. He sat up immediately in his bed and looked around. In his flat, with his few meager belongings around him, Drake began to sob. 

_No one laughs at God in a hospital._

_No one laughs at God in a war._

_No one’s laughing at God_

_When they’ve lost all they’ve got and they don’t know what for._


	2. God could be funny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reid tries to help his man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad so many people liked the first chapter! This for sure has this chapter and another, but might actually have an epilogue if I'm feeling up to it (after all, we're missing an episode this week due to the BAFTAs). This is from Reid's POV. I feel as if Drake's POV comes more naturally to me, so I apologize if it is a bit off. I tried to get the tempo of Reid's thoughts to fit but some of it I was not quite happy with. Oh well. Here is the next chapter.

Inspector Edmund Reid found he was able to think better when he was sitting in his office at the station. This was much to his wife Emily’s displeasure, which was something he tried not to dwell on. It was not an uncommon occurrence to show up at the station at some ungodly hour (or to never leave in the first place) and sit in his office going over this or going through that. The little things kept his mind busy and away from those things which he would rather not dwell on.

What was uncommon, however, was to see Sergeant Drake at four in the morning dressed for work and in the station. Usually his Sergeant was on time every day, but the man seemed to enjoy his away time from work. So when Drake passed by the inspector’s office at a strange hour, Reid found himself wondering why. A few minutes ticked by before Reid decided to satiate his curiosity and pursue the man.

He found Sergeant Drake sitting at a desk, which was odd. With the nature of their work they were rarely ever sitting for long. It was always onto the next location or they would be off to track down the latest suspect or witness. The strange things about the current situation were beginning to stack up in Reid’s mind and he did not like it. For a moment he merely watched Drake who seemed engrossed in a file of a case that would probably be passed on to another inspector. After all, Reid had already gone over the reports that had come in during the night and none of them seemed to require their services.

He hesitated to announce his presence. There was something in the slope of Drake’s shoulders, the irritated tapping of his fingers on the desk, and the haggard look in his face that screamed ‘proceed with caution.’ Something was amiss with his sergeant this night and he could not even begin to guess what it was.

When Drake looked up the man seemed startled to find Reid watching him. The flush of his cheeks did not go unnoticed as the sergeant scrambled to stand.

“Sir. I didn’t see you there.” He managed to get out, looking every bit like he had been caught doing something he was not supposed to.

“Perhaps that is because I had not felt the need to be seen. Sit down, Sergeant, you look exhausted.” Reid motioned back to the chair and watched as Drake hesitantly sank back into it. “What brings you in at this hour?”

“Ah, well, sir, I, y’see,” Obviously Drake was scrambling for an excuse; some sort of story that would explain why he was there. The problem was the man was too honest and did not have the guile to come up with a convincing lie. That was something Reid liked about him.

“It is fine, Sergeant. You do not have to explain if you do not wish to.” He grimaced when he realized how forward and harsh his tone could be as he noticed the look of shame crossing Drake’s features. “What I mean to say is, you have a right to your privacy.” When had he become such a twat? _After she disappeared. She took my tact and kindness with her wherever she is._

“I couldn’t sleep, sir.” Drake finally answered, nervously licking his lips. It was one of his ticks, one of the things Reid watched for when they spoke. He could always tell if his sergeant was nervous if the man had been reduced to the flick of his tongue over his lips.

“Seems a terrible night for sleep anyway, I suppose.” Reid replied. _I want to tell you that you are not alone, but that is not exactly proper is it?_ All he could do was hope that Drake understood the sentiment behind his words. “Anything of interest in that file you are reading?” It was an innocent enough question, but the sergeant’s response piqued his suspicion. The man had shaken his head, turned back to the file and snapped it shut.

“No, sir. Nothin’.” Drake replied. _He’s lying_ Reid thought to himself and felt a flare of annoyance. Why did his people feel the need to hide things from him?

“Hand it here then, Sergeant.” Reid almost felt guilty when he saw how nervous the request made Drake. A man who seemed so unshakeable any other day seemed so vulnerable at this early hour. When the file was handed to him he opened it and began scanning it. _Ah._ It made sense now.

“Madoc Faulkner.” The inspector murmured before he closed the file. There was no mystery there. No foul play. It was just his sergeant looking for something. Closure, perhaps. “Do you…” Reid hesitated before continuing, “wish to talk about it?”

He watched the conflict raging inside of Drake play out on his face. If he were honest with himself, Reid was not certain which side he hoped would win. The curious part of him wished to know what was going on in his man’s head while the other part knew that whatever it was, whatever was shared, the inspector would probably make an absolute mess out of it.

“It is just the war, sir. Nothin’ more.” At Drake’s words, Reid wished it was relief that fell over him. Instead his concern deepened. _Jackson would be better suited for this_. Reid had not fought in the war. He had experienced loss, but a different sort. In the line of duty he had killed a few men and watched many more hang for their crimes, but never in his life had he seen anything that could compare to what was haunting his sergeant. It was the reason why he had failed to maintain the other man’s loyalty during the case. _It was not his fault he left, it was mine. When you kick a dog enough times, no matter how loyal, it is bound to run away eventually._

“Sergeant, ah, Drake,” Reid swallowed, feeling a strange fluttering in his stomach in response to the way his sergeant’s blue eyes bore into him, “I may not be able to empathize with what you have been through. I have not served, I have not had to kill as you have, but I understand pain. I understand nightmares. If you need time off, or more time on, or…whatever it is you need, I will do my best to fulfill it.” That was all he could offer at that moment and he knew it was not enough, but it seemed to bring some sort of peace for Drake so for now it would just have to do.

“Thank you, sir.” Drake replied, soft spoken as ever, and Reid handed him back the folder.

“I hope you find what you need.” The inspector nodded toward the file.

“Aye.” With that, the sergeant turned back to the folder. Reid hesitated before stepping forward. He rested a hand on Drake’s shoulder and squeezed gently. The other man was turning toward him again, but Reid quickly removed his hand and made his way out of the room.  

_No one laughs at God_

_When the cops knock on their door_

_And they say we got some bad news, sir_ _  
_


	3. God could be so hilarious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson tries to get through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is going to have an epilogue. I've already got it sort of planned out in my head...I've just got to find the time to write it. 
> 
> Thanks everyone for the support so far with this fic. Each time I get kudos I smile a little bit (and get even more excited when I get comments). This chapter was a bit harder for me because Jackson's voice is a bit more difficult, and it is hard to gauge how the two men would interact in this sort of thing canon-wise. So I did my best. I hope y'all enjoy it.

Reid had asked.

That is what tipped Captain Homer Jackson off to the fact that for once, Reid was truly serious about getting him to do something. Sure, demands were more typical and the threats given often inspired action anyway. However, there was always a degree to which Jackson could fight back. He could always get in a little snippy remark, dance around whatever it was he was being asked to do, avoid Reid, whatever. This time, though, there was something in Reid’s manner that suggested it took a lot for him to make a request of the Captain instead of giving him a command.

Jackson had been sitting at a poker table when he caught sight of Reid coming in the door. With an easy smile he finished his hand and stepped out of the game, making sure to catch the inspector before the man decided to scare off his opponents.

“Reid. To what do I owe the pleasure? Would you care to join me in a little game of cards?” He asked, smirking a little bit. Yet the smirk soon faded as he noticed something was a bit off. “What’s wrong?”

“Come with me.” It was a command, which was just so typical of the inspector. With a sigh, Jackson looked longingly back at the cards before he allowed himself to be pulled out of the building by his elbow.

“Jesus, Reid. What the hell is it?” _It isn’t like him to drag me out; usually he just yells and doesn’t care in the least who hears_ Jackson thought to himself, which made the situation all the more concerning.

“It is Sergeant Drake, Captain.” Reid replied, his voice low as his blue eyes bore into Jackson’s. If the Captain were a less confident man, he might actually find himself intimidated by that gaze. As it was, for the moment he was merely curious as to what was going on with Drake.

“What happened? Is this about Rose?” Jackson asked and then immediately regretted it when a look of mild confusion flashed across Reid’s face. _Aw shit, he doesn’t know about any of that yet_.

“No,” the inspector began, giving Jackson a look that said they would discuss that interesting tidbit later, “it is about Madoc Faulkner. It seems our sergeant has been left a bit…haunted, for lack of a better term.”

The pieces clicked into place and suddenly Jackson understood why Reid had sought him out. It was not any surprise that Sergeant Drake’s bad day was finally taking its toll on him. After all, Captain Jackson had seen the other man’s face as he descended those stairs moments after Rose’s rejection. Add on the memories of war that Madoc Faulkner had brought in with him and it made sense that Drake would not be doing well.

“And you want me to talk to him, former soldier to former soldier.” Jackson concluded, pursing his lips. His relationship with the sergeant had always been a bit sketchy at best. Not from lack of trying, but he had a feeling the other man simply did not approve of Jackson. _Probably doesn’t help that Reid ignores the man when all Drake wants is a bit of positive regard_. He’d tried to commiserate with Drake before, to make peace with him, but that had landed Jackson with nothing but a busted up face and a bruised hip.

“Yes, if you are willing.” Reid replied carefully and the Captain raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“You’re asking me. Mark this day on the calendar, inspector Reid has actually _asked_ for something!” He laughed, though it died quickly when he saw the scowl on Reid’s face.

“Will you, or will you not try to speak with him?” the inspector asked, still scowling.

“Fine. I just can’t promise that he’ll want to talk with me.” Jackson answered.

Jackson had waited a day before tracking Drake down one evening after they had been dismissed. To the captain, Drake would always be an enigma of sorts. The man had grown up on the streets, from what he had gathered. He lived a rough life only to be snapped up by the military. After serving, he returned to civilian life and decided to consider serving in another way. Maybe he thought he would one day be seen as something more than what he believed himself to be.

It seemed that Drake had spent all of this time trying to leave behind his ruffian upbringing only to have it be the one thing that made him more useful to society. He clearly wanted to escape the life he had once lived, yet his work continually dragged him back into it. Jackson felt almost sorry for the sergeant at times, but then realized feeling sorry for the man would do no good. So instead, even though all he received in return was a cold shoulder, he tried to treat the man like a gentleman. Like a brother.

After all, he was a Yankee and what use was it being American if you did not actually subscribe to the dream of a self-made man built up from nothing?

He found the sergeant in the heart of Whitechapel, watching a small group of children playing in the street. Jackson approached carefully and the sergeant spotted him almost immediately. The conflicting expressions that crossed Drake’s face were quite an interesting study. His expression was one part confusion, one part annoyance, one part uncertainty and perhaps beneath it all one part relief.

“To what do I owe this pleasure, yankee?” Drake inquired, his gaze drifting back to the children.

“I heard you had some ghosts hanging around.” Jackson replied easily; he was not the type of man to beat around the bush. If he were honest, the sergeant probably did not need someone to beat around the bush anyway.

“And who woulda told you that?” The sergeant frowned as his hands making their way into his pockets. His posture screamed ‘leave me alone.’ _Would that I could, friend, would that I could_ Jackson thought to himself as he stood beside Drake and also watched the kids.

“A concerned acquaintance of ours; he seemed to think we might have something in common.” Captain Jackson looked away from the children and studied Drake’s face. He could see the bags under the man’s eyes, the nervous twitch of the sergeant’s tongue, and the nicks on his neck and chin from shaky hands wielding a shaving razor. When the other man remained silent, Jackson decided to continue.

“You’re not alone, sergeant. A man can never understand the exact pain of another, but he can come pretty damn close. Close enough to empathize,” Jackson sighed and felt a sudden craving for a cigarette. Unfortunately, he’d left his cigarettes behind, “and I don’t know what you need to hear, but I am going to try and figure it out anyway. Walk with me?”

The captain felt a twinge of pride when Drake nodded his assent and began walking. Jackson quickly matched his pace and they worked their way down the street. He gave the other man a chance to speak and when he did not, attempted to fill the silence.

“No one except our brothers in arms can even begin to comprehend what we’ve been through, sergeant. It is hard living life knowing most of the people we walk by on a daily basis have no idea what we have seen and what we have done,” he hesitated, “I don’t know what it is like to see a man you once trusted your life to blow his brains out, but you can’t let it keep haunting you. You have to move on.”

Before he could even inhale his back hit the wall and what little air was in him was pushed out. Drake’s hand was around his throat, his body pressed close, and the sergeant’s blue eyes bore into him. _Well now I’ve done it_ , Jackson thought to himself, _Reid better be goddamn happy_.

“Do not speak of things you know nothing of, Yankee.” Drake growled, though Jackson realized the man’s grip on his throat had relaxed. _He’s shaking_ , he noted idly as he was able to take in a deep breath even as he remained pinned to the wall.

“I know more than you think I do, sergeant. Maybe if you let down your walls a little bit you would come to realize that. You can’t go on with life pining after whores, mooning over Reid, and being tormented by your past. There is more to you than that!” Jackson exclaimed and then closed his eyes for the punch he knew was coming.

A moment later he was knocked to the ground, but he brought Drake down with him with a swipe of his leg. With both of them on the ground in the mud they fought. Drake was shouting this and that while Jackson did his best to parry each strike, striking back when needed. It felt like an eternity when both men finally lay sprawled out beside each other, staring up at the cloudy grey sky as they tried to catch their breath.

Jackson was quite certain his nose was bleeding and he would have at least one black eye in the morning. Thankfully he had not lost any teeth and had left Drake with a few matching bruises of his own.

“Feeling better?” Jackson asked calmly.

“Aye.” Drake replied breathlessly and then began to laugh. Jackson joined him, and though he was certain the onlookers around them thought them both to be loons, the captain could not bring himself to care.

_But God could be funny_

_At a cocktail party while listening to_

_A good god-themed joke._

_Or when the crazies say he hates us_

_And they get so red in the head you’d think they’re about to choke._


	4. We're laughing with God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...when you allow your ghosts to consume you and drive you toward revenge…in the end you end hollower than before."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented, and kudo'ed this work. This is the first time I've really sat down and done something more than just an offhanded drabble. I love this show and love these characters, so I look forward to interacting more with other fans and perhaps writing more in the future. 
> 
> I hope this short epilogue brings the story full circle. Thanks for reading.

Sergeant Drake was back at the low burning fire, watching the flames dance and curl over the wood they were consuming. The desert around him was dark and his only companion was sitting across from him, watching him watch the flames.

“You’re at peace, Sergeant.” Colonel Madoc Faulkner observed, his voice soothing Drake’s nerves. “Has your goddess been satiated?”

It was a strange question and Drake was not sure how to answer. This place was odd and in the back of his head he knew something was off. Yet the wind on his skin produced goose flesh and the smoky smell of campfire embraced him. It all seemed very real and comforting.

“Confused?” Faulkner asked with a soft laugh, the flames casting dark shadows on the man’s worn and weathered face.

“Is this a dream, sir?” Drake felt obligated to ask because it all felt too real to him.

“Does it matter either way, Sergeant? Does it make this place any less real in this moment?” Again Faulkner chuckled, and poked at the flames with a stick. There was a long stretch of silence before the Colonel continued, “You’ve found yourself a new family now.”

The thought of that made Drake’s heart flutter just slightly. His mind flew back to the station, where Reid had found him after a nightmare. He recalled the previous evening where he and Jackson had rolled in the mud, fighting until they were reduced to fits of laughter. Even Rose was in his memories, beautiful Rose, who even after rejecting him still remained a presence in his life. _Family_ , the sergeant thought to himself and felt tears in his eyes.

Faulkner broke the silence, “I made the wrong choice. I know that now. Sergeant, when you allow your ghosts to consume you and drive you toward revenge…in the end you end hollower than before.”

Finally, Drake made eye contact with his dead colonel and saw empty, sad eyes staring back at him. A shudder crawled through his body as the reality of it all hit him.

“My ghosts will never be gone, sir,” he began, “but they ain’t got power over me no more.” Instinctively his fingertips traced over the tattoo on his arm.

“May that always be the truth of it, Sergeant.” Faulkner replied with a smile before the world around them both began to fade to black.

Drake’s eyes fluttered open. He stared up at the ceiling and exhaled slowly before smiling a little to himself. In his flat, with his few meager belongings, Bennet Drake realized all was well.

_No one’s laughing at God_

_No one’s laughing at God_

_No one’s laughing at God_

_We’re all laughing with God_


End file.
